Maybe Arranged Marriages Aren't So Bad After All
by pinkconchshell
Summary: When Mr. and Mrs. Darling have Wendy take the ultimate step to growing up - getting married - she's not very happy with their decision. But, there's something vaguely familiar about her new fiancee... Peter x Wendy all the way! Rated K.


Maybe Arranged Marriages Aren't So Bad After All

Disclaimer: …you know the drill…

"_Married?"_ she repeated, her smile faltering. "To whom?"

Wendy's parent's happy smiles seemed to slide off their faces, and they exchanged glances. Mr. Darling cleared his throat and sat her down on the couch, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"I can see you're less excited than we thought you'd be," he sighed. "Oh my dearest Wendy, I know that this may have come as a surprise, but you're sixteenth birthday is in a month, and you know that sixteen is the age for any proper young lady to be married. You mustn't worry; we've chosen an excellent suitor for you. He comes from a very noble bloodline, and he's extremely wealthy. Many a young maiden have blushed about his features, too. " he said, giving her a wink.

"Do I even know him?" Wendy asked, trying her best not to let her voice shake.

"Well, you will," her mother said gently, sitting down next to her daughter and tenderly brushing a piece of hair back from her face. "Your father and I have arranged for the Panettieres to come over with their son for tea tomorrow afternoon. Hopefully you'll get to know him. He's a delightful young man, very courteous and such a gentleman. Please, Wendy, give him a chance."

_Well I'll have to, won't I? _Wendy wanted to say. _Since you've promised me to this boy I've never even met before!_ But she held her tongue and gracefully bowed her head, murmuring, "It would be my pleasure."

Mr. Darling beamed. "Such a wonderful young lady. Mary, we must congratulate ourselves on her excellent upbringing. Come, my wife, we shall have a glass of wine to celebrate! To think, my little Gwendolyn grown and engaged. I couldn't be more proud." And he gave her smile that seemed to take place many years ago, perhaps in a nursery room as he was tucking her into bed.

Mrs. Darling glanced at her daughter one last time before she followed her husband out of the sitting room. Wendy's face was arranged into a much too polite smile, her hands were much too daintily folded on her lap, her ankles much too perfectly crossed. Mrs. Darling sighed quietly and closed the door behind her carefully, and then walked away as quickly as she could.

As soon as Wendy heard her mother's footsteps turn around the corner, she jumped up from the sofa and rushed to John and Michael's room, bursting through their door frantically, and wringing her hands.

"My God, woman!" John's voice said loudly, sounding amused. "What's happened to you?"

"Mother and Father have arranged for me to be married!" Wendy cried, flinging herself into his arms.

John and Michael exchanged shocked glances.

"Married?" Michael whispered. "You're going to be married, Wendy? Does that mean that you'll have to leave?" Tears welled up in his eyes.

"I'm afraid so, Michael," Wendy said, placing her hand on his smooth, round cheek. "Oh, how I wish they would have let me have a say in this!"

"Wendy – I don't know what to say," John admitted. Ever since Mother and Father had sent him off to Academy, he hadn't been very good at using his words to comfort. Wendy had supposed that it was the behavior of his juvenile friends that had gotten into him.

"Oh, John," Wendy sighed, releasing her grip on him and dropping her face into her hands. "That's alright. Most boys your age don't. I just – I don't know what to do now. Father was right, I did know this was coming, I just didn't believe it. And now it's happening. Oh, John, what if he's horrible?"

John puffed out his chest dramatically. "Any chap who even dares to be horrible to _my_ sister will have to answer to me and my intimidating demeanor."

Despite herself, Wendy giggled. She looked down when she felt Michael's small hand slip into her own. "Wendy," he said, nuzzling her arm. "I don't want you to leave us. I love you."

Ten years old already, but Michael was still the most darling thing. "Oh, Michael," Wendy said, tousling his hair. "I love you too. But Mother and Father are right – I do have to grow up, even if I don't want to. Growing up means getting married. It's something all of us must do eventually."

"I say," John barked, standing up. "Who is this fellow you're to be married to anyway? I'd like to have a few words with him. Did Mother and Father say what his name was?"

"No," Wendy said, racking her memory. "I'm afraid not. Though, they did say that he was the son of the Panettieres-"

"The Panettieres!" John said, suddenly looking excited. "You're to be the wife of Mr. Paul Panettiere's son? Wendy, do you have any idea how lucky you are?"

"Why, no," Wendy said, tilting her head. "Else we wouldn't be grieving together at this moment over the loss of my eligibility in society."

John ignored her. "Mr. Panettiere happens to own several diamond mines, one or two gold mines, and at least a dozen or so coal mines. Why Wendy, you'll live like a princess if you marry the son! Christ, I didn't even know the Panettieres had a son, much less an heir! Golly, Wendy, even if you had picked your own husband, there's nary a gentleman that would be as fit for you as the heir to the Panettieres' mines!"

Wendy felt just a little bit irritated. She knew she was trying to make it sound as though being married really wasn't that horrible, but John's sudden and entire change of heart was a little bit too sincere for her taste. She had wanted her brothers to comfort her, not to side with Mother and Father.

"Well, I suppose," Wendy said, a slight trace of sullenness in her reply.

"What's the matter, Wendy? You don't want to be rich?" Michael asked.

"Oh, no, it's not that at all," Wendy said, turning to her younger brother. "I was just thinking – what if we don't like each other? My schoolmistress, Mrs. Tupper, is always complaining to the class about how her husband always neglects her, and doesn't care for her. What if he and I are the same way?"

"Now, Wendy, you mustn't think that way," John said pompously, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You're about the most tolerant, patient, kind, loving, responsible girl that I know. Everywhere you go you make all sorts of friends. I'm sure you'll be just fine. Have you ever met a person who didn't like you?"

A breeze outside lifted the wind chimes on the balcony. "I'm sure there must have been _someone_," Wendy sighed, trying to remember.

"Well, _I_ certainly can't think of anybody who hadn't taken to you immediately." John said. "You're sure to win him over right away, and before you know it you and your fiancé will be talking the night away about meaningless things like what to paint the house and how many pillows you want on your bed."

If she hadn't been so startled by John's last sentence, she would have said that that sort of talk didn't really appeal to her; it never had. But at his last words her face reddened and she smacked him, not bearing to look at either of the boys next to her.

"John!" Wendy said. "You mustn't speak that way in the presence of a lady! Goodness, have they taught you no manners at that Academy of yours? Surely you don't speak that way around the Boys?"

"I? Certainly not!" John grinned impishly, immediately contradicting what he'd just said. "Why, Slightly and Tootles and Nibbs would have my head, and Curly and the Twins would surely beat me black and blue."

"I miss them," Michael piped up. "They shouldn't have had to stay over there over the summer holidays."

"Well, they're on a trip of Europe," John said, sounding a tiny bit jealous. "You'd stay too if you were going all over Europe with the rest of year four."

"I must get to bed," Wendy said, standing up. "Mother said that the Panetierres would be coming over for afternoon tea tomorrow, so John, Michael, I want you two on your best behavior, in your best clothes, with your best smiles and your best manners. Understand?"

"Yes, mother," they chorused. The words made Wendy smile. The boys scampered off to the bathroom, fighting over who would get to wash first and who would get to brush their teeth first. Wendy sighed and headed to her own room. She decided to slip into her favorite nightgown, the one Mother didn't approve of because of all the tears and rips and stains on it. It was extremely clean, however, due to Wendy's bargain that it would remain so if she would be allowed to keep it. It was her oldest one – she'd had it since she was eleven. Now, as she lid the nightgown on over her head, it looked more like a dress, an extremely, scandalously short dress that only came up to the tops of her knees. But it still fit, and for that she was grateful.

Wendy fell asleep quickly – she always did when she snuck into her old nursery.

"Wendy, dear," came her mother's voice.

Wendy opened her eyes to see her mother's face over hers, smiling softly down at her in the morning light. Wendy almost smiled back, but she remembered that she was to meet Mr. and Mrs. Panetierre today and Panetierre Jr. She managed a small grin and yawned, stretching out in her old four-poster bed.

"Dear, your father is coming to wake you this morning," Mrs. Darling said softly, stroking Wendy's hand. "I suggest you get back to your real room before he arrives. You know how bothered he gets when things and girls aren't in their proper places." The twinkle in her eye ignited.

"I suppose you're right," Wendy said, sitting up. "I promise I'll be right up there."

"Why don't you come to my room after breakfast today?" Mrs. Darling asked. "I'll help you get ready for tea this afternoon with the Panetierres. I want you to look lovely when you meet your fiancé."

"I would be honored," Wendy said sincerely. She loved it when her mother let her inside her room. It was like a queen's chamber, with the prettiest perfumes and soft carpeting. She was looking forward to it already.

Her good mood vanished once she came down to breakfast. Her father was chatting away about all the different business deals he could make with Mr. Panetierre and how Wendy's marriage would propel the Darling family high into society. She poked at her porridge as he told her about stocks and finances, replying only with half-hearted answers. John and Michael didn't notice, but Mrs. Darling might have. The kiss in the corner of her mouth disappeared in a dimple as she met her eye and gave Wendy an understanding smile.

"How would you like me to do your hair?" Mrs. Darling asked when Wendy timidly stepped into her room.

"Any way you'd like is fine with me," Wendy said courteously, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She knew how much her mother loved to play with her hair.

"I think I'll give you a kind of elegant twist – with your curls piled on top of your head – oh, Wendy, you're going to look so fetching."

And Wendy did. When Mrs. Darling was finished brushing and powdering and painting every inch of Wendy's youthful face and slender neck, and when she had sprayed the last puff of perfume and whisked her daughter in front of the floor-length mirror, Wendy hardly recognized herself. She looked more like Mrs. Darling than Wendy – not that that was necessarily a bad thing. Mrs. Darling was renown throughout London for her exquisite beauty, and Wendy was slightly surprised to discover just how much she really resembled her mother. The dress Mrs. Darling had chose for her was really very pretty – blue with small white flowers near the bottom. The sleeves had lace cuffs and the hemline trailed all the way to the floor, the way her mother's most expensive gowns did.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in George, dear," Mrs. Darling called, placing a glittering barrette, a finishing touch, into Wendy's caramel waves.

"Mary, the bank wants me at work this evening – why, good heavens! Wendy, is that you?" Mr. Darling had walked in and looked up, and upon catching sight of Wendy had nearly dropped the papers he was holding. Wendy managed to blush prettily.

"I say, you are the spitting image of your mother when she was sixteen," George said, taking Wendy's face in his hands. "My word Wendy…you know Mary, perhaps marrying our only daughter off isn't as good as an idea as we thought. I should quite like for her to be a small girl again, carefree and filthy as always, searching for the next adventure."

"Do you really mean that Father?" Wendy asked hopefully, but Mr. and Mrs. Darling didn't seem to hear her. They were currently fawning over a picture of Wendy, John, and Michael, huddled together in each other's arms on the nursery floor.

"…and you're going to be wedded," Mrs. Darling sighed, turning back to Wendy and stroking her hair. "You'll be the most beautiful bride there ever was in Bloomsbury, my dear, mark my words."

When the doorbell rang, Wendy felt a chill go down her spine. Mr. Darling jumped up from his newspaper and hurried to the door, arranging his tie. Mrs. Darling shot a glance at Wendy, who seemed to have sunken lower into her chair.

"Would you like to come and greet our guests?" Mrs. Darling asked softly, taking Wendy's hand.

"If you don't mind, I'd rather wait here for him," Wendy said, not meeting her mother's eye. Mrs. Darling looked disappointed, but left anyways, her light footsteps echoing on the marble tiles all the way down to the entrance hall.

"Don't be so sullen, Wendy," John said, stuffing the rest of his bacon down his throat. Michael was too busy downing the milk from his cereal to say anything. Wendy shot them a reproachful glance, but didn't say anything.

"I mean," John continued. "I don't know why you're being so down. If you don't want to marry him, then I will. The man has money, and nobility, and imagine all the gold he'd have lying around the house! Why, there's not really a downside to this whole situation at all. In fact, if you have some extra rooms that need filling, you just go ahead and make sure to write me-"

"Stop it, John! I'm not married yet!" Wendy snapped, annoyed. "And maybe you _should_ marry him instead of me, that would just make us all so much more happier."

"Wendy, John, please don't fight," Michael said as John opened his mouth to retort. "These are our last days together, and we shouldn't spoil them by bickering, wouldn't you agree?"

John and Wendy looked at each other again, and offered bashful, apologetic smiles. Their next words were interrupted by Mrs. Darling, poking her head into the dining room.

"Children, it's time to join us in the sitting room," she whispered, before hurrying off, linking her dainty little arm to that of an unfamiliar, beefy one. The children looked at one another and got up. They held hands as they walked to the sitting room – something they hadn't done in a long, long time. Wendy knocked ever so politely on the door before entering.

"Ah, Wendy, dear," Mr. Darling said proudly. "Please, allow me to introduce my daughter; This is Wendy Moira Angela Darling, and she'll be turning sixteen next month. Wendy, meet the Panetierres. This is Viola," he said, bowing to an enormously fat woman with a jolly smile. Viola Panetierre gave Wendy a friendly wink. "This here is Paul Panetierre," Mr. Darling said, gesturing to a man who probably would have been extremely tall were he not sitting down. He smiled at her and nodded his head. Wendy curtsied to the both of them, thinking that if her fiancée wasn't friendly, then at least his parents would be. She turned around to greet her betrothed, her stomach fluttering strangely as she met his bright green eyes.

"And this," Mr. Darling said dramatically. "This is Peter. Peter Panetierre."

"Ms. Wendy," Peter said, standing up and bowing. Wendy tilted her head, her lips slightly parted.

He was tall, at least four inches taller than her, with golden locks and the appearance that he spent much of his time outdoors. The black suit he wore didn't, well, suit him. It gave him the appearance of being stuffy and formal. But he was still extremely handsome, and that cocky smile he was giving her made her want to smile back.

"Pleased to meet you," Wendy said, curtsying.

"The pleasure is all mine," Peter said politely.

"Well, we'll give you two some time alone," Viola said, standing up with surprising speed. She waddled out the door quickly, followed by the rest of the Darling family and her husband, who had to stoop a little bit to fit under the doorway. Only John and Michael were left, and they were staring at Peter with a curious expression on their faces.

"Who are you?" Peter asked, sizing up John.

"I'm John," John said in a strange voice. He shook his head and bowed, then offered his hand. "Wendy's brother."

"I'm Wendy's brother, too!" Michael said, trying to look important.

"Hello…Hello," Peter said, looking amused. Wendy was confused, as there was nothing funny at all about the introductions unless one took into account the queer looks on her brothers' faces.

"John, Michael, do you two mind…" she trailed off, flitting her eyes to the doorway and back, trying to get them to understand.

"Oh!" John said with much too much understanding. "Oh, okay. Until later, then, Wendy." He bowed out gracefully, dragging Michael along with him.

"So," Wendy began, not really knowing how to start. What was someone supposed to say to someone she had never met, but was supposed to be married to? Were there specific topics to be spoken about? Who was supposed to speak first?

"You have a beautiful home," Peter said, striding around the room with his hands behind his back in a very gentlemanly fashion.

"Thank you," Wendy said, grateful that the subject he'd chosen was a familiar one.

"On my way here I just so happened to pass a beautiful little park – you wouldn't want to take an afternoon stroll there with me would you? I'd rather like to go and see the Italian gardens, wouldn't you? Have you ever been there before?" Peter changes topics at top speed.

"Oh!"Wendy said, a little bit flustered. "Yes, alright then. Let me go and grab my coat and then we can go-"

"You won't need your coat, Wendy-lady," Peter said, laughing. More chills. _There's something oddly familiar about that boy, _Wendy thought, eyeing him suspiciously.

"I'm sorry, but have we met before?" Wendy asked. His green eyes twinkled.

"Perhaps. Can you recall?" he asked, surveying her carefully.

"Not exactly." Wendy was frustrated. "It's just – I feel like I used to know you."

"Maybe you did," Peter said quietly.

Wendy laughed shortly. "Oh, I'm being silly. It's probably just all my nerves getting to me. I was extremely anxious about meeting you, you know," she informed him as they left the house, shutting the door behind them. The park wasn't far, so they set off at a slow pace, a leisurely stroll down Black Lion Street.

"Were you really? And why's that?" Peter seemed interested.

"Well, weren't you? It was really just about the whole mystery surrounding you; I didn't really know what you would be like. I feared you would be perfectly horrid."

"And am I horrid, Miss Wendy?"

"No more than a pirate," Wendy said teasingly. She was beginning to like this boy. Perhaps they could become good friends in time.

"I don't like pirates," Peter said calmly. "The lot of them are dirty and mangy, not to mention brutal. Were I ever compared to one, not in good fun, I would be extremely offended."

"Well _I _think it'd be rather exciting to meet a pirate," Wendy said, picturing herself with a brandished sword in the middle of an ongoing fray.

"You would," she could have sworn was what he muttered.

"I suppose you'd like to meet mermaids too, then? How about Indians?" Peter said. Then he did something very forward; he looped his arm through Wendy's like they had known each other their entire lives, and to Wendy's surprise she was so comfortable with this familiarity that she forgot to reproach him for being so improper.

"More than anything!" Wendy said excitedly. "When I was a little girl, I used to have dreams about flying away and fighting pirates, soaring among the clouds and camping with the Indians. I used to want to be a writer, too, and tell about all my adventures in a novel of three parts."

"And do you dream that still?" asked Peter. The excited smile slid off Wendy's face, and the glow she had attained by talking about her memories began to fade.

"Mother and Father say that childish dreams are to be put away once a young lady reaches the age. And I suppose their right. I mean, after all, mermaids aren't real, the Indians are all over in America, and pirates are ghastly things that pillage and kill for their own selfish gain." Wendy' voice was quiet again.

"Well, you at least have to believe in fairies," Peter said, frowning down at her. "For if you didn't then I fear that I'd have to withdraw my proposal of marriage."

Wendy laughed, thinking he was joking. "Oh, there's no need for that. I've always believed in fairies. To this very day, I always draw them during class, and sometimes when Michael wants a bedtime story I'll whisper to him about their adventures in the treetops. And sometimes when I'm extremely bored and there's nothing to do I'll close my eyes and pretend that I have wings and that I'm flitting through the clouds, leaving a trail of pixie dust behind me."

"You have quite a vivid way of describing things," Peter grinned down at her. The park gate was in site now, and they began to cross the street, making their way slowly over towards the sidewalk. "But it's alright. I find that girls who can hold a stimulating conversation are far more attractive than girls who can only speak about their shoes and clothes."

"_Peter_," Wendy said, flattered. "The way you talk about girls is perfectly _lovely_."

Peter just grinned. "You know," he said, holding the park gate open for her. "I do believe in fairies."

"You do?"

"I do."

"Then perhaps we'll see one this evening," Wendy said, smiling.

"Shall we sit?" Peter asked, gesturing over to a park bench, sitting just under a yellow lamppost. Wendy walked over and sat, making sure that her dress was not wrinkled.

"Wendy," Peter said, suddenly nervous. "I'll bet you didn't want to get married."

"No," Wendy said, blushing. She looked away. "Of course, I don't _mind_ marrying you – I think that if I'd known I was engaged to someone like you before then I wouldn't have put up such a fuss. Mother and Father probably didn't know just how much like me you were, or they probably wouldn't have arranged the marriage for fear of you stuffing my head with silly ideas all over again."

"Again?" Peter asked.

"Yes…you see, when I was younger, I didn't want to grow up." Wendy said, reminiscing. "I wanted to go on adventures and have exciting swordfights and fly."

"How funny…I never wanted to grow up either," Peter said, looking at her.

"Really? That _is_ a strange coincidence."

"If you don't mind, Wendy, I'd rather you used the term fate," Peter said, flashing her a charming smile. Wendy blushed.

"But yes, I didn't want to grow up. In fact, I was so afraid of it that I ran away." Peter said, twiddling his thumbs.

"Where did you go?" Wendy asked. For some reason she felt like she knew the answer.

"Kensington Gardens," Peter said. To her surprise, Wendy felt disappointment rush through her at his answer, but she fought hard not to let her face reveal it.

"Why did you come back?" Wendy asked, turning her face away.

"Because, as it turned out, I was growing up anyway. I got taller and I thought more, and my voice deepened, and I knew that it was time for me to return home. When I did, my window was shut though. My parents had moved out of the house and there was a different family living there now. So it was Viola who found me wandering the streets – although I am ashamed to admit it, I tried to steal her handbag. She forgave me, bless her, and instead of beating me she took me home and adopted me."

"You're lucky," Wendy said wistfully. "That's quite an adventure."

"Wendy?" Peter asked, taking her hand.

"Hmm?" she asked absentmindedly. She seemed to be trying to remember something.

"What do you think about me? About our whole situation? Do you think you can be happy with me?"

"Oh, Peter," Wendy said, sighing. "If Mother and Father hadn't picked you out for me, then I certainly would have. You say the most interesting things. Besides, it's like I said before – you seem vaguely familiar to me…like we've met before."

"I'd be honored to have you as my wife," Peter said. Wendy saw his face go red. "I know all about you, Wendy Moira Angela Darling. I know you love to tell stories, and that you have the mind of a dreamer and the heart of a child, and you can stand up for yourself. You're brave and responsible, and you're like a second mother to your two brothers."

"You read me like a book, sire," Wendy said, surprised. "Why, I don't think anyone has ever said anything to kind to me."

"You're kind, and smart, and witty, and you have the most terrible tantrums. When you're angry your face turns red and you start to shake. You do the silliest things to, like break things and push people and yell. Remember when I pretended to drown and Tiger Lily jumped in to save me and started trying to breathe me back to life with her kisses, and you got so mad that you threatened to kick me out of the tree-house?"

Wendy rolled her eyes and shoved him gently. "_Honestly,_ Peter, the silly things you used to do-"

But she broke off mid-sentence when she realized what he had said, and turned very slowly to face him. He was watching her with baited breath, waiting to see what she would do next. Wendy felt like she was going to explode.

"Oh, my word," she breathed, barely moving her lips. "Peter."

There was a silence, in which only the heartbeats of the two were able to be heard, and then Wendy made a strange sort of throaty noise that went something like 'guah!' and she tackled him to the floor, shouting and laughing and saying, "Peter! Peter!" over and over again. They rolled all the way down the small hill, roaring with laughter and yelling excitedly. Several lights turned on in nearby houses, and a few dogs began to bark for their ruckus. When they finally stopped she was sprawled on top of him, quite unladylike, but she didn't care. Even if they were surrounded by all of London she wouldn't care.

"You came back!" She cried, tears welling up in her eyes. "You've grown up!"

"Well - almost," Peter said, looking down at his body. "I'm not yet a man, Wendy, just as you are not yet a woman. But our childhood is gone, and now we're stuck somewhere in between. But oh, Wendy, I'm so happy that you remembered! What on earth made you forget?"

"I haven't the foggiest," Wendy said, lacing her fingers with his. "John and Michael have forgotten too. Perhaps it was when all the fairy dust had worn off. Perhaps we just didn't want to remember; for fear that you would never come again."

"But I have come," Peter said, his eyes glinting excitedly. "I came back for you, if you'll still have me."

"Oh, Peter," Wendy put a hand on his cheek. "We can't go back to Neverland. I've forgotten how to fly."

"Well, I haven't," Peter said, and sure enough, his arms circled her waist and he hoisted her ten feet off the ground, ascending high into the night sky. "But Neverland hadn't crossed my mind, because what I really wanted was to see you again. Every time I needed to fly, yours was the face that I pictured."

Wendy beamed. "Are you saying that you want to stay here, with me?" she asked, delighted.

"If you wish it," Peter said sincerely. "But we can still go back, before we become adults, before they send me to an office and before we have to talk about such things as parlor walls and bills. We can still have adventures, we can still fly – that is, if you decide you don't want to stay here."

"But what if I do?" Wendy asked mournfully. "What if I do want to stay? Will you leave again?"

"I decided a long time ago that doing what your heart tells you is the greatest adventure of all," Peter whispered. Wendy bit her lip, smiling. Her heart fluttered.

"Peter," she asked. "Are we really going to be married?"

"Oh, yes, there's no doubt about that," Peter laughed. He let go of her with one hand to pull something out of his waistcoat pocket. "I stole this from the Jolly Roger before I left. I hope you like it – it's about as big as Tinkerbell."

"Peter, it's beautiful!" Wendy exclaimed as he slid the diamond onto her finger. "Why, it's more magnificent than all the wedding rings in England put together!"

There was the sound of chimes and bells, and then a bright ball of light was illuminating both their faces.

"Hey, Tink!" Peter laughed. "Were you spying on us?"

Tinkerbell responded with her musical chimes and then zoomed to the back of Wendy's head.

"Tinkerbell? What are you – ooh!" she said, gasping in pain. Tinkerbell was tugging at her ponytail again.

"Tink, let go of – mmmph!" Peter began, but he was promptly silenced by the crashing of Wendy's lips on his. Tinkerbell cackled, pleased with her work, and began to circle the pair so that her pixie dust settled on them like glittering raindrops. They began to rise up into the air even more so, completely oblivious to everything around them, the moonlight shining on the two like it had so many years ago, far away, in Neverland.

And they lived happily ever after. The end.

Hell-o! Yes, that's right, I'm back! Didja miss me? I sure did. This was just a little (although I guess eleven pages is not very little) warm up to recapture my writing skills. Wow, I can't believe I decided to write a Peter Pan fanfic out of all the other wonderful genres out there. Oh, well. But yeah, this is the result of procrastination to the extreme, because I really did not want to study for my Algebra final. (Get this – it's the only non-honors class I'm taking and I have a D. WHY DOES THIS HAPPEN TO ME?) But anyways yeah. That's it. Since summer's here I'll probably write TONS more, so get ready! Oh, yeah, one more thing; you are a smart, outstanding, strong, intelligent, beautiful, independent woman (since no guy is going to read an eleven-page Peter Pan romance oneshot) and a review from such and incredible, fascinating person would make my day!


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